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They’re walking side by side, dusk settling over the rooftops. The mission’s done, nothing urgent left, just that lazy quiet between things.
Ayano exhales, stretching her arms behind her head. “You probably wouldn’t even need me if you actually got serious once in a while.”
It’s tossed out like a joke. Breezy.
But her eyes don’t meet his when she says it.
Kazuma looks over. That one offhand comment sticks - just enough sharpness in the middle of her smile to make it land wrong.
And he knows that look. Knows that tone.
He’s heard her tear into him a hundred times louder, and it’s never felt like this.
And it hits him in the chest, hard and stupid and too much.
“You really don’t get it.” As he says it, he reaches over and gently plucks a leaf from her hair. Just like that. No teasing. No smirk.
She blinks at him, a little taken aback.
She thinks he doesn’t need her.
That he’s letting her tag along. As if she hasn’t already taken up more space in his life than anyone ever has.
She thinks he doesn’t see her. That she has to catch up, prove herself, earn her place beside him.
Meanwhile, he’s just trying to remember how to keep breathing when she looks at him like that—scrunched nose, serious eyes, that dumb stray hair she never notices curling over her cheek.
God, it’s pathetic.
He’s pathetic.
And he can’t even begin to explain how wrong she is.
And it’s so backwards he doesn’t know whether to laugh or drop to his knees.
And she thinks she’s the one chasing him.
She has no idea.
He’s standing there in front of her wondering how the hell she doesn’t already know.
You’re the one I measure everyone else against.
God.
It’s absurd.
It’s also kind of funny.
He smiles to himself, helplessly. Shakes his head.
She has no idea.
And she’s right here.
A breeze picks up, cool and sudden. Kazuma doesn’t say anything. Just shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders as they walk.
She stiffens in surprise. “I’m fine,” she says, fingers catching the sleeve. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
He cuts her off, calm. No heat, no teasing. Just that.
I know.
He doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t explain.
She frowns, like she wants to argue, but the words don’t come. Maybe she hears it this time. The way he means it.
Not because you’re cold.
Not because you need me.
Because I want to.
Because you mean more to me than you realize. More than everyone else.
Because you’re mine to look after.
He stays one step ahead of her, hands in his pockets, pretending like it’s nothing.
And this this dumb, quiet jacket is the only thing he can think to give her that won’t scare her off.
He’s fine. He’s calm. He’s composed.
He’s absolutely, irreversibly doomed.
And for some reason, that feels kind of okay.